By nightfall, their footsteps echoed against the winding, ancient path leading to the hill shrine. The air was thick with unease, yet there was a pull—an invisible thread drawing them upward to the solitary cabin, half-buried in moss and mystery. The one who lived there was known only as "the Old Man"—a recluse, a herbalist, a mythkeeper. He sold poultices in the market, mumbled at the stars, and was mostly ignored.
But tonight… they came to him willingly.
Lanterns flickered like fireflies along the porch, their glow casting long shadows over the wooden planks. As the group approached, the door creaked open before they could knock. The Old Man sat in a crooked chair, sipping something steaming and earthy. His lone eye glittered as he looked up.
"I was wondering when you'd all come knocking," he said with a knowing smile.
Rael narrowed his eyes, stepping just inside the light. "You know why we're here."
"Oh, of course. Your eyes glowed. Your marks awakened. The stars stirred," he replied, voice raspy but amused. "And now the questions flood in like spring rain."
Kael moved to the front, folding his arms tightly. "Yeah, we have a few. Like what the hell is happening to us?"
Zayn's voice was quieter, but steadier. "Why us? Why now?"
Nia sat near the entrance, cross-legged, already attuned to the pulse in the soil beneath her. "And what are these marks really? What do they want from us?"
The Old Man stood with effort, but his posture straightened as if powered by something unseen. The mischief faded from his eyes, replaced by gravity.
"The time has arrived. The signs are true," he said. "The Gem has awakened… and so have the Six."
Rhea flinched. "The Gem?"
He stepped closer to her, lifting his hand gently as if tracing the light still shimmering faintly beneath her skin.
"You, child. You are the Chosen Vein—the one who bears the Gem within. The only one who can unlock the sacred vaults of magic buried beneath this realm."
She froze, lips parting in silent disbelief.
"And the others," he continued, turning to the rest, "are the elemental keepers. Fire, Ice, Wind, Light, Earth…"
His gaze landed on Rael and lingered.
"...And Sword."
Rael's jaw clenched. "That's not an element."
"No," the Old Man said, "It's older than the elements. A force born to protect the Gem at all costs. The blade that binds, severs, and judges."
Lyra stepped closer, confusion on her face. "But wait—Sword? That wasn't in any legend I've heard."
"Because that truth was buried," the Old Man said, pulling aside a dusty drape to reveal a scroll tucked in a cracked wooden frame. "Even among the Chosen, the existence of the Sword was hidden… because it alone could destroy everything—if turned."
Kael looked around uneasily. "So, we're all walking time bombs."
"You're guardians," the Old Man corrected gently. "But yes… very powerful ones."
Nia's brows knitted. "And the enemy?"
He sighed, walking over to the scroll and slowly unrolling it. Ancient runes shimmered across the page—symbols of the sigils they bore… and another mark, blackened and broken. A serpent consuming its tail.
"They've been hunting the Gem for centuries. Selene, Thorne, Mirek… they are part of an ancient order who corrupted their marks, turning power into poison. But they only know half the prophecy."
Zayn's voice dropped. "What don't they know?"
The Old Man tapped the scroll. "They know about the Gem. But not about the Sword. Nor the Veins' final awakening."
Rhea looked pale now, her hands trembling. "What happens… if they find all the wielders?"
The Old Man's expression hardened. The lantern light seemed to dim as his voice lowered.
"Then destiny will crash upon this world like thunder. Kingdoms will fall. Skies will split."
He turned to her, voice like the crack of firewood, ancient and final.
"And you, Rhea… will either awaken salvation—"
He paused, as if the weight of the next word pained him.
"—or doom."
A chill swept through the cabin. No one spoke.
Outside, the wind howled against the cliffs.
And for the first time, each of them truly understood:
This wasn't just magic.
It was war.
The old man's eyes glimmered with a mixture of sorrow and resolve as he carefully rolled up the ancient scroll. "If you want to understand your destiny," he said, his voice low and steady, "you must first understand the past."
He motioned for them to follow him inside his humble cottage. The wooden door creaked as it closed behind them, shutting out the world outside. Inside, flickering candlelight cast shifting shadows that danced across shelves crammed with dusty, leather-bound tomes and shelves cluttered with curious artifacts—weathered masks, delicate vials filled with strange powders, and faded tapestries depicting forgotten battles.
"Five hundred years ago," the old man began, his gaze distant as if seeing into a time long gone, "there was a kingdom unlike any other—a realm where magic was not just whispered of in myths, but was woven into the very fabric of life. The rulers of that kingdom were unlike ordinary monarchs. They wielded not just swords or armies, but the raw power of the elements themselves—fire, water, earth, air, and light."
Rael's voice broke the heavy silence, curiosity tinged with awe. "How do you know all this? It sounds like a legend."
The old man smiled, but it was a smile touched with both sadness and pride. "Because I was there. I was more than a witness—I was the head of the Ministry. The Ministry was a secret order tasked with overseeing the balance of those elemental powers, guarding the realm from falling into chaos."
He reached slowly into the deep folds of his robe and produced a small, glowing amulet. It pulsed softly in the dim light, casting an ethereal glow on his weathered hands. "And this," he said solemnly, "is the reason I still walk the earth today."
Rhea stepped closer, her eyes wide and searching. "What is that? What does it do?"
The old man's expression darkened. "It is both a curse and a blessing. This amulet binds me to this world, making me five hundred and fifty years old—far beyond any natural lifespan. I am immortal, but not by choice."
Kael raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Five hundred and fifty years? You're basically a living legend."
"Perhaps," the old man whispered, "but my immortality is a burden. I am bound by duty—an eternal oath to protect the powers entrusted to this world. To guide the Chosen Vein and her protectors, until the day the balance is either restored or utterly destroyed."
Nia leaned in, voice barely audible. "So the powers… the Gem and the Sword… they're tied to that ancient kingdom?"
"Yes," the old man nodded gravely. "That kingdom's fate was sealed by betrayal and war. Its rulers were torn apart from within, and to prevent their power from plunging the world into darkness, the Gem and the Sword were split—hidden away, separated by distance and magic, to keep their combined might from falling into the wrong hands."
Rael stepped forward, his face set with determination. "And now, after all this time, they're waking again."
The old man's eyes darkened, shadowed with the weight of centuries. "Yes. And with their awakening, so too are the enemies—the ancient evils and forgotten enemies who would see the world consumed by darkness once more."
He let the silence stretch between them, the flickering candlelight the only witness to the heavy truth they now carried. "The time has come. The Chosen Vein must rise, and the protectors must stand united. For if they fail, all will be lost."